


The Flavor of Victory

by Xayah90



Series: My Letter to you [1]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Drama, Emotional, Pre-Relationship, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26311621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xayah90/pseuds/Xayah90
Summary: The rebellion has achieved a small victory, but is it really a reason to celebrate?
Series: My Letter to you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717777
Kudos: 3





	The Flavor of Victory

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there,
> 
> As some of you may have noticed, I've started writing short stories lately, since I spend most of my free time with Solo-Q.
> 
> Now that I've (finally!) reached gold, I'll be returning to my main story in the near future.
> 
> I would like to mention in context with this short story that the theme in it is a little bit dark, as it' s about war and the consequences, I had the idea for this for quite some time and it became final when my best friend and me went to a war graveyard and saw the conditions there. 
> 
> Let's just hope that the world has learned from the past and that we won't have to create more cemeteries of this kind in the future (even though I personally don't think that we humans are capable of learning).
> 
> Greetings

The lights in the small pub flicker, threatening to fade, any breeze, no matter how small, could plunge the taproom into deepest darkness. The mood is exuberant, the other members of my small group stand in the bar in kinda good mood, beer and ale spilling and singing joyfully, toasting.

Celebrating today's victory.  
We have eliminated a large number of our enemies, a small army, remnants of the troops from Noxus. 200 men, maybe 300, we were outnumbered and yet we won, we lost nearly 50 men.

The others see it as an unmistakable victory for our cause, we won the battle. 

And they aren't wrong about that but they aren't really right either.  
Even if we won this battle, this war is far from being won. 

I swallow, my eyes staring at the window, suppressing the tears. I can' t show any weakness, need to be strong. For the others, _for my cause_. If I show weakness, I risk that the others will leave, run away, drop our cause.

A shadow rises above me, I ignore it. A clacking makes me flinch, reminds me of the shot of a pistol, though not so deafening. Slowly my gaze turns to the person standing in front of me, at some distance on the other side of the table.

Rakan.

I try to smile, even though I'm not sure if it looks even vaguely credible. He smiles at me, nods at the jug on the table, which he has placed within my reach. "I thought you would like to toast with us. To the success of the battle. And to our fallen friends." His voice is soft, with slight sadness in it. 

  
I have to swallow again, has my throat always felt so dry? I nod timidly and I can feel my ears dropping slightly. _Why are they doing this, what is wrong with me?_

"A rather bittersweet victory," I whisper softly, holding the jug up to cheer and then gently placing it to my lips. He nods, then moves the chair to the opposite of me and sits down on it, looking at me seriously. "That's the way it is, you know, there are no winners in war." He smiles, a sad expression on his face.

"It's not really a war." My answer sounds stupid, even I realize that and I would like to slap myself for this stubborn comment. He looks at me with sad eyes, his shoulders shrugging.

"Call it what you want. War, revolt, revolution, rebellion, your cause, the name doesn't change the result. And the result is many dead on both sides, families destroyed, lovers torn apart and in the end they are all equal, **we** are all equal. A name on a stone... if we are lucky."

He takes another sip of beer, his eyes wandering to the others who sing an old Vastayan lament to remember our fallen friends. My gaze returns to Rakan, my forehead wrinkles. 

_When did his thoughts become so meaningful?_

The voices of others reach my ears, still lowered and I feel the muscles in my body stiffening. My fingers cramp around my jug, my eyes directed at the golden liquid inside.

**...so we drink in the now and here, a dead body doesn't need beer.**

My stomach spins around, I have to fight against the strong urge to vomit right now. _Don't. Show. Weakness.. Be strong._

I exhale loudly audibly before I stand up and hurry over to the door with stiff steps. Surprised, Rakan looks after me. 

The cold night air feels good on me, soothes my glowing thoughts, while I slowly sink to the ground in the side alley. I have never thought about it before, about the consequences my cause might have for my followers, about the result of all this.

_Damn Rakan..._

For the first time I really care about my followers. They were always companions, supporters of the same cause, without knowing more about them or being interested in them and their lives. 

But now, thanks to Rakan, I wonder what draws the others to the battles...  
False loyalty? The hope for a better life? A better future?   
Friends who made them do it? Maybe one of my speeches?

And all those who lost their lives under my command, all those who fell in the last battle, what about them? How did they live? Who did they leave behind? Were they in love? Maybe even parents themselves?

Who stands by the window every day and now waits in vain for his or her loved one to come home again?

They have paid for _my cause_ with _their blood_ , a _high price_. _Too high_. What if my cause fails? What if my rebellion is unsuccessful? Then they would have died for nothing...

What if the others lose hope and faith in my cause?

I swallow, my hands clench into fists, I didn't even notice that I started crying, I stroke my eyes with the sleeve of my glove, wiping away the tears. I am weak. Maybe too weak.

"You should come back in, drink and say goodbye to the others with us." 

Startled, I look up, looking into Rakan's deep, blue eyes, threatening to lose myself in them. I swallow again before nodding timidly and reaching for his extended hand. Once more I remember his words. That I should think about whether I really want to lead the rebellion to this extent or whether it wouldn't be better to take it a little easier and gentler. To spare the innocents, women and children. 

Maybe he is right, maybe it is time.   
But he doesn't need to know that I will give it consideration.

Slowly we walk over to the others, ordering a jug of dark, malty beer for each of us, before we raise our glasses to our fallen brothers and sisters, mourning their death and singing songs to them. Just as we celebrate this small, doubtful victory. 

Even though it tastes bittersweet. 


End file.
